Poor Mike Newton. If only he hadn't tried to sneak a peek at Bella in the locker room. Then maybe Edward wouldn't have used his head as a soccer ball… (Well, boys will be boys). One-shot. Fluffy as a cottonball.
Word of warning: it's fluffy, but not PG, teddy-bear fluffy if you catch my drift…
"Teenage boys have only a brief season of exhilarating liberty between control by their mothers and control by their wives." - Camille Paglia
Locker Room Blues
Mike Newton was not the sharpest tool in the shed. If anything, he would be the safety scissors, dulled out and incapable of nipping even the freshest piece of grass in fewer than fifty tries.
It was also an unspoken, unanimous agreement throughout the entire female population of Forks High School that Mike Newton was a bit of—well, a pervert. And even that was a gross understatement. The term "lecherous pig" was thrown around the most, as in: "Listen you lecherous pig, snap my bra strap with that pencil one more time and I'll shove it up your ass"—which is exactly what Rosalie Hale told him that morning in Home Economics, a class that was infamously bathed in dangerously high estrogen levels.
Mike Newton did not take Home Economics for cross-hatcheting skills, that's for sure. Nor did he take it for the Bettie-Sues and Mary-Janes who seemed to be ubiquitous in their Anna Wintour bobs and stocky woolen tights. He didn't even take the class for Rosalie Hale (well, maybe a little bit. But ever since her jolly green giant Emmett roughed him up in the boy's room for staring too long at "his girl's" general chest area, he'd dismissed her as a prototypical raging bitch and moved on).
No. He endured the lacy, feminine horrors of Home Economics for one reason and for one reason only. She was looking in right in the eye, furrowing her perfect eyebrows, parting her perfect lips to tell him—
I love you.
No. He imagined that. What she really said was—
"Mike! Mike, you're drooling!" Her big, brown eyes were wide in alarm as they flickered to his mouth.
Bella Swan. The police chief's little girl. Unchartered territory. The forbidden apple too high for even Jack and his beanstalk to reach. She was sweet, she was innocent, and oh god, she was so pretty. Most importantly, she would never ever threaten to stick a pencil up his ass (so ha, he thought triumphantly, suck on that, Hale).
There was just one tiny problem. He knew. Tyler knew. The entire male population of Forks High School knew.
She was famously and exclusively Cullen's precious girlfriend.
An imaginary cloud of depression rained over his head at the thought.
Cullen, he thought darkly, savagely tearing through his patchwork quilt. He was too caught up in his black mood even notice he'd stitched his shirt to the fabric.
It was an impossible case, Mike thought forlornly. He gazed tragically down at his ruined handiwork. Anyone who so much as looked at Bella the 'wrong way' would immediately regret it, courtesy of Cullen 'n co. Plus, ever since he "accidentally" ran his finger ever-so-softly (feather light. She wasn't even supposed to feel it) down her spine in math class (who would've known she'd shriek and jump almost a foot off her chair?) Cullen's demonic aura towards him had been especially threatening. How was Mike supposed to seduce the girl of his dreams if he couldn't even look at her without feeling those all-seeing eyes burning into the back of his head?
His cloud of depression was still battering away at his fragile teenage-boy emotions when he shuffled off to his locker to change for Physical Education (he didn't know why they called it that. It was neither very physical nor educational. They spent half the period taking roll, and the other half he spent fighting with Tyler Crowley over who got to take Bella to the nurse's office). He was very late today, because of a root canal appointment.
That was when he saw it. Bella's sweater, caught in the doorway of the girl's locker room. Earlier that day, he'd seen it sticking out of the zipper of her backpack and wanted to reach over to tuck it in. Maybe "accidentally" run his hand along her arm in the process. Dimly, he could hear angels singing hallelujah in the recesses of his brain.
He couldn't help himself. It was magnetic. It was calling to him. He could practically feel himself being pulled in—closer, and closer and closer…
Mike reached out and took the sweater in his hands. It was baby blue. Soft to the touch. He held it in amazement.
Of course, now he'd have to return it, wouldn't he? Meaning he would have to go into the girl's locker room. While there, if he happened to catch sight of some naked bodies, it wouldn't be his fault. He was just an innocent little boy, returning a sweater with the very best of intentions.
Mike tried not to look too eager when he passed the shower stalls.
Fuck yes. I've hit the mother load.
How very wrong he was.
"What are you doing?"
Startled, Mike quaked, and nearly dropped to the sweater in alarm. Oh shit.
Wait a second. He knew that voice. He knew it very well. Mike dared to open his eyes, and what he saw made his breath catch in his throat.
Bella. She had her back turned to him.
"Why did you think you could hit the tennis ball without whacking yourself in the face with your own tennis racket?" She sounded frustrated—with herself? "What are you doing in PE, you silly girl? You don't even have life insurance." Bella seemed to talk to herself a lot. She and Mike had that in common (at least, that's what Mike noted silently to himself). Had she really hit herself with her own tennis racket?
For a second, Mike was worried for his girl. Had she ruined her face? Would there be a scar? But all these thoughts dissipated into thin air at her next movement.
In one delicate motion, she removed one sneaker. Then the other.
Mike Newton held his breath, and he was not disappointed.
Hooking her fingers in the elastic of her shorts, she leaned over—he could faintly see the outline of her ass through the length of her gym shirt—and pulled them off her legs.
Oh god, her legs…
He was suddenly having a very, very hard time breathing. Especially since he now had Bella's sweater pressed against his mouth to keep himself from making so much as a squeak. That least, that's what he told himself.
Bella's hands drifted to the edge of her shirt—dancing, sliding….
She pulled the shirt over her head, and it was history for poor Mike Newton.
He really did squeak, then. In fact, he did a little more than that. To put it mildly, he was pretty much hyperventilating. In cold, blustery Forks Washington, every day was a jeans-and-parka day. It was an icy day in hell when Mike Newton was able to even catch sight of a girl wearing less than a skirt. Imagine the state of his raging, adolescent hormones when he saw Bella Swan in her bra and panties (matching, no less).
Oblivious, she reached up towards her locker, her delicate little shoulder blades curving like baby bird wings as she leaned. Mike Newton ran his eyes down her pretty little body again and again and again…
"Oh fuck," he breathed.
Her head whipped around. "Edward?"
Mike swore again, this time in panic, and ducked.
He could hear her padding towards his direction. If he looked up, he was sure he'd be able to watch her smooth, slender calves glide towards him like angel legs… No, bad Mike! He cursed himself for his short attention span.
"Edward, are you there?"
He squeezed his eyes shut. Shit. Fuckity-fucking-fuck. Any second now, she was going to turn the corner and see him kneeling. Then she was going to hate him forever and she'd never agree to make out in the backseat of his parent's Volvo—
—and let him hook his finger into the strap of her belt loop, slide his hand down her creamy thigh, tracing her skin—in a delicate figure eight—as she sighs passionately under the heated—
"I'm here, Bella."
For the millionth time that day, Mike Newton was startled. He was startled out of words. Ironically, this was usually a very rare occurrence for him.
Edward Cullen was standing right behind him. Emphasis on the 'was' part.
"Oh." Bella sounded relieved. Her voice was soft—and very sexy, Mike thought. "Hey, you." There was another soft noise—like a kiss. Mike began to feel that Bella might be full of very soft little habits, and maybe certain parts of her would also be very soft too—
Roughly, Cullen cleared his throat. Too loudly to be unintentional.
Bella became worried, "What's wrong?" Mike could imagine she was touching Cullen's jaw in light, loving concern. Cullen, on the other hand, was most likely grinding his teeth together, clenching-and-unclenching his fists in annoyance, like he always seemed to do—
Cullen very nearly growled, and there was a quiet bang as he backed Bella into the row of lockers, his hand pressed between the shoulder blades (which Mike had been fervently admiring earlier) so her bare back wouldn't sting from the cool metal. She sighed contentedly, the way she had in his daydream, and her eyelashes fluttered shut when her boyfriend ghosted his lips over the dip of her collarbone. Cullen's free hand was now tracing a path down her flat stomach, brushing across the line where her underwear started before stroking the prominent jut of her hipbone in a feathery caress—teasingly, in a delicate figure eight…
Oh god. After that, Mike Newton did not have the guts to look up anymore.
"Edward," she breathed, "As much as I like these impromptu meetings of ours—"
"I got it."
There was a faint rustling, then the sound of zipping. To Mike's relief (and disappointment), Cullen had only put his jacket on her.
He went back to hiding, swallowing his head in his arms, willing himself to be invisible. You don't see me, you don't see me…
Cullen seemed to walk past him.
Mike let out a breath in relief.
Then, a smooth, dark voice rose from behind him. "I'll be taking that." Cullen said coldly.
Bella's sweater was gone from his grasp before he could blink once.
Before he could blink twice, he felt a 'thunk!' on the back of his head, and was out cold for the duration of the PE period.
To no surprise, Mike Newton was very careful to keep his fantasies to himself after that. Deep, deep, deep, inside himself. Bella, however, never figured out why Edward wrinkled his nose every time she wore her light blue sweater.
Some things, she guessed, were better left unsaid.
(AN: Ahh... This was very refreshing and fun to write. I like Mike, even though he's kind of looney. I enabled anonymous reviews, so if you have anything to say-- anything at all! as long as you're not mean about it-- feel free to leave a comment/review! :])